fiction
My sister held out her hand six days before Christmas and said, “Give me your $34,000 bonus. I deserve it more—I have kids to feed.” When I refused, my mother grabbed my purse, my father told me not to be dramatic, and two days later the check cleared with a forged signature. I didn’t call the police that night. I called my actor boyfriend, and he asked whether I wanted revenge—or theater... / Chapter 8 / 10

Chapter 8 - The Certified Cashier's Check

At exactly 8:45 AM on Thursday morning, my phone rang.

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It was my mother. Her voice sounded thin, cracked, and thoroughly hollowed out by twenty-four hours of sheer terror and sleep deprivation.

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"Iris?" she whispered, sniffing pathetically on the other end of the line. "Iris, sweetheart... please pick up. Please tell me you're there."

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I let the phone ring three more times before slowly sliding my thumb across the screen to answer.

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"Hello, Mom."

"Iris! Oh, thank God," she sobbed openly. "Iris, listen to us... we made a terrible, horrible mistake. We didn't understand... Darcy was out of her mind, we were stressed about the holidays... please, you have to call that federal investigator back. You have to stop them from destroying our lives!".

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"What are you talking about, Mom?" I asked, keeping my voice chillingly flat and devoid of emotion. "You said it was just family money. You said I was being selfish."

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"We were wrong! We were completely, utterly wrong!" she wailed, her voice breaking entirely. "Your father and I scraped together every single liquid dollar we had left—we liquidated our secondary CDs, we borrowed against our emergency reserves, and Darcy even had to sell her car to cover the rest... we have a certified cashier's check for thirty-four thousand dollars sitting right here on the kitchen table!".

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I had to bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep from laughing out loud. They had actually forced Darcy to sell her beloved luxury sedan to cover the stolen funds. Poetic justice of the highest order.

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"Bring it to me," I instructed coldly.

"What?"

"You heard me. If you want me to call off the federal investigator and stop the criminal fraud charges from being filed with the District Attorney this morning, you will drive right now to my office downtown, walk through the front doors, and hand me the physical cashier's check for thirty-four thousand dollars in person. No excuses. No whining. No emotional manipulation."

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"O-okay," Mom stammered, terrified out of her mind. "We'll be there in twenty minutes. Please... please just wait for us, Iris."

Click.

I hung up the phone, grabbed my coat, and looked at Sam and Marcus, who were standing in the corner of the studio disguised in full professional attire.

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For twelve years, my mother had persuaded everyone in our hometown that I'd turned my back on my family to build a career in the Navy. At my father's memorial service, she publicly shamed me in a packed church and ordered me to take off my military uniform. I was ready to walk away when a retired general rose from his seat with Dad's final letter in his hand and said, "Before you humiliate your daughter one more time, Helen, these people deserve to know the truth."

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My husband sl3pped me across the face in front of his entire family and shouted, “Get out of my house! You don't belong here anymore!” Behind him, my mother-in-law smiled with satisfaction, certain she had finally succeeded in driving me away. What neither of them knew was that I secretly owned the mansion they were standing in—and the $10,000 my mother-in-law spent every month on designer clothes, luxury holidays, and personal comforts came straight from my bank account. They thought they were throwing out a helpless woman. They had no idea they were about to lose everything…

My husband sl3pped me across the face in front of his entire family and...

"Act Three, Scene One," I smiled. "Let's go collect our box office earnings."

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